


Promise Me

by Local_Hippie



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Joanlock - Freeform, Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-05 06:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12184806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Local_Hippie/pseuds/Local_Hippie
Summary: Tag 5x13. Set the night Jack Brunelle is arrested and the hostages are freed. Watson faces another post-hostage trauma, again... and Sherlock blames himself, again. The two consulting detectives make a promise to one another.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Robert Doherty’s Elementary characters. Enjoy!

The diner parking lot was bustling. Ambulances and police cruisers swarmed the scene, casting red and blue lights into the pitch black night above. Officers in bulletproof vests moved in every direction. With the scale of the police presence, one could only assume the media would be arriving soon.

From her perch on the back of an ambulance, Watson watched the officers escort Jack Brunelle to the backseat of a police cruiser. She felt a cold shiver run over her shoulders as he passed by. 

From his position standing beside her, Captain Gregson felt her movement. “You okay?” he asked. 

After twelve hours of trying to keep a diner full of people calm, she was past the point of putting on a brave face. “Not really,” she replied. Still, she wasn’t in the mood to talk about it. The Captain had assured her that the long process of taking down her statement could wait until the morning. A small consolation considering everything that had happened. 

He bent his head towards hers and patted her on the back affectionately, “You did good in there.” She smiled a little. Perhaps he was right, she thought. She had saved a life, maybe even the lives of everyone in that diner. And yet she found little comfort in the thought. She couldn’t. Not tonight. Not until the memory of Jack’s heartbroken face stopped flashing before her eyes with every blink. 

A siren sounded suddenly as the police cruiser took Jack Brunelle away into the night. She felt the cold wind whirl around her ankles and pulled the blanket tighter across her shoulders. He was gone. Everyone was out of the diner. It was over for the hostages. But for Jack, the injustice of his son’s death would never let him sleep at night. That grief settled deep in her stomach. 

Family members began spilling past the crime scene tape and connecting with their loved ones. Watson recognized some of the hostages running to embrace husbands, wives and children. For a moment she found solace in their happy reunion. 

Another police cruiser pulled up just outside of the crime scene tape, drawing her attention. The Captain spoke again, “That’ll be Holmes and Bell. Get some rest, huh?” he patted her shoulder gently once more and was called away.

The car hadn’t even pulled to a complete stop when Sherlock stepped out, leaving the passenger door ajar and quickly ducking under the yellow tape. A feeling of warm relief washed over her at the sight of him. She tried to ignore the involuntary increase in her pulse. From across the parking lot, she caught a look of desperation on his face as he quickly scanned the area, his eyes eventually landing on her and his brow furrowing with concern.

He started in her direction just as Bell pulled him to the side, introducing him to another officer and keeping him from meeting her half way. 

It occurred to Joan that his overt concern might be due to her perch on the ambulance. She stood, feeling her knees and feet strain at the motion and crossed the parking lot towards him. Still caught in conversation, Sherlock locked eyes with Watson over Bell's shoulder. Her pace faltered only briefly under the unfiltered emotion she saw there, his chest heaving with deep panting breaths. He ran his eyes up and down her body, inspecting her for injury, she guessed. "Are you hurt," was written all over his face. She shook her head ‘no’ to his unasked question. She watched him scanning her face over and over. Anger, concern and guilt ran over his features in an endless cycle of internal blame. He had missed the deadline. There would be no justice for Jack Brunelle’s son. 

Finally, Bell moved to leave. The other officer ran over to the driver’s side of the police car, leaving Watson and Sherlock alone, gazes locked.

Sherlock nodded softly towards the police cruiser waiting behind him and reached back to lift the crime scene tape with a silent invitation.

Let’s go home. 

Grateful to be spared an inevitable conversation, she accepted the invitation. They would discuss it later. They ducked under the tape and climbed into the awaiting police car together. Almost instinctively, the two detectives settled close together, side-by-side. Watson sighed and let her body sink into the cool fabric of the back seat.

The car slowly pulled out, passing a group of officers unloading their weapons and removing their vests. The image of Jack with his rifle in the air flashed through her mind again. She shivered—this time not from the cold. Sensing this, Sherlock moved closer until their shoulders and knees touched. A small, but intentional gesture of comfort on his part, she knew. He was letting her know that he was there for her. 

They both felt the relief as the car pulled out of the parking lot, leaving red and blue lights in their wake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Robert Doherty’s Elementary characters. Enjoy!

Sherlock was fighting to stay awake. The two of them had been working for over 32 hours straight and the car ride home seemed to be a perfect time to catch a few minutes of rest. That was his plan until the moment Watson’s head began to fall forward. She was dozing off and seconds away from falling forward into the seat in front of her. He reached forward and guided her shoulders back against their seat. Instead, a sleepy Watson turned towards him and buried her nose in his side with a contented sigh. After that, there was no way he was going to sleep. The feeling of his partner dozing against him quickly became intoxicating. Her comfort and trust in him seeping into her unconscious. She had been through an unimaginable ordeal and there was no way he was going to move her now, even as she began to drool against him. 

The police car pulled up outside the Brownstone, grazing the concrete of the curb abruptly and startling Watson into consciousness. She woke to find her head resting firmly against the shoulder of Sherlock’s coat. Sherlock was usually so avoidant of physical contact, so she was surprised when he didn’t move an inch. He must have known she was awake now and yet she could feel his breath against her face. She managed to sit up and turn away before he saw the blush creep across her cheeks. Meanwhile, Sherlock tried his best to ignore the deep onset of disappointment at the loss of her body heat again him. 

He cleared his throat and moved to open the door. Watson tried to pretend she hadn’t been drooling against him, but found herself brushing a hand across her cheek to cover it up anyway. He caught her eye as they met on the sidewalk, trying haphazardly to hide his amusement. But a smug grin seemed to spread across his face despite himself. 

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes and brushed past him. “You can bill me for the dry cleaning, ok?” She could hear him chuckle softly behind her. 

They reached the door and stepped inside, melting into the warmth and safety of the Brownstone at last. With a swift nudge, the front door was closed, shutting out the distant wail of sirens and the harsh night air. Sherlock waited for her at the coatrack and they fell comfortably back into their usual ritual: him taking her coat, her folding their scarves. The silence of their home swallowed them. Shocking how much had changed since she had left home this morning.

She glanced towards the staircase as he moved ahead of her a few paces and stopped again. Tonight they would go their separate ways. Her to sleep, and Sherlock… she caught him rolling his neck from side to side to ease the tension there. He would probably spend the night wallowing in his own blame. The last time she had been taken hostage, the aftermath had torn them apart. She’d moved out of the Brownstone and he’d taken it to be an affirmation of his fault in her being taken. He’d run away to London. To this day, they had never really discussed her capture.

She wasn't going to let that happen this time. She wasn’t going to let them drift apart again. She caught his eye for a moment before he turned away, still unmoving from his position beside her in the corridor. Perhaps he was thinking the same thing. His gaze flitted down to his shoes and he cleared his throat again, bouncing on his heels nervously.

“I…,” he stared a hole into the wall to the right of her head and swallowed slowly, “I’ll start the tea then if you want to have a shower.” He tried to make it sound casual, but his voice came out distant and uneven. He turned away from her fully as if to head off in the direction of the kitchen, but remained rooted to the spot, hands on his hips and head cast downward. 

Neither of them knew what to say, but it seemed clear that neither of them wished to spend the night alone in opposite ends of the Brownstone after the events of today. 

Something within her lifted and she found enough courage to reach out to him, “Sherlock…”

Her words were muffled immediately as he whirled around to face her, tugging her outstretched arm towards him, and pulling her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around him in an instant, feeling his rigid form melt into hers. His hand moved to cup the back of her head and when he spoke she swore she could feel his lips in her hair. She was surprised to hear her name slip through his lips as he let out a deep breath, “Watson, I thought…” he trailed off. She felt an immediate sense of understanding pour over her with the action, “I know…me too.” Their chests heaved against each other with the sudden proximity and she could almost feel his heartbeat thundering against her cheek, her face against his chest. She closed her eyes, revelling in the sensation of his arms around her, clutching her to him as if a strong wind was about to pull her away. It had been years since anyone had held her that way. She tightened her hold on him further.

They stayed that way until their breathing slowed. Hours could have passed and yet they remained fused together, seeking comfort in the steady heartbeat of the other. Eventually, it occurred to both of them that they had never been this physically close in so many years of their partnership. 

Then just as quickly as it had begun, it was over and the pair broke apart, quickly mourning the loss of contact.

Sherlock cleared his throat, running a shaky hand through his hair. “Okay, NOW I’m going to make the tea,” he glanced at her sheepishly for a second before escaping to the kitchen. As soon as he was gone, Watson let out a deep breath.

She could definitely use that shower now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 will be up soon. Thank you for the kind feedback. Love to hear what you thought!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Robert Doherty’s Elementary characters. Enjoy!

The ugly little Brownstone bathroom had never looked so inviting. Watson stood in the tub and let the hot water melt her sore muscles. The heat was soothing, healing and so perfectly numbing right now. For a few minutes, she let the steam soak into her pores and fill her lungs. She had spent the day in limbo, waiting for Jack Brunelle’s phone to ring with some news on the investigation. Oh, and the hours she had sat on that horrible diner stool watching the clock tick closer and closer to the deadline.

She reached for her soap, blindly searching in the steamy haze until she grasped the plastic bottle. Her mind floated back to the day’s trauma, and she had lathered her arms and legs with soap before she realized her mistake. The familiar smell of sandalwood and honey filled the air. His smell. She took a closer look at the soap bottle she had used. As she suspected, she’d grabbed Sherlock’s by mistake. She closed her eyes as the smell of him brought back the memory of his embrace. She could almost feel his hand cradling her head again, his heartbeat against hers and his breath in her ear. She shivered at the memory. 

She had never been that close to him before. In five years of partnership they had barely touched. They brushed against each other in the mornings sometimes: Him pouring cereal and her reaching for a coffee mug. Other times their fingertips brushed when he brought her breakfast and when he gave up and asked her to fix his tie. Other than that they kept physical contact to a minimum. 

Now she thinks maybe they should have kept it that way. The moment they had shared in the corridor had left her breathless. Frankly, she hadn't wanted it to end. He was so…warm. She chuckled at the thought. Five years ago she would have never described Sherlock Holmes that way. But it was true and right now she wanted nothing more than to have him hold her that way again, to feel his lips in her hair. Even under the heat of the shower head, she felt goose bumps send chills down the back of her neck. 

She had never felt this way about Sherlock before. Moreover, he had never exhibited any hint of feelings towards her either. And yet he had been the one to initiate their embrace. Or had it been her? Her mind had gone a bit fuzzy the moment he’d caught her arm. But she had felt the pounding of his heartbeat and the tightening of his arms around her.

Her mind returned to the kitchen as she washed the grief of today from her hair. If she knew him at all, he was downstairs in the kitchen berating himself for not figuring it out sooner, not solving the puzzle faster, better. She had to make him realize how wrong he was. If they had both just listened to Jack Brunelle all those months ago, perhaps none of this would have ever happened. The weight of today fell on _both_ of their shoulders. Of course, Sherlock would insist on shouldering the blame all on his own. He would no-doubt work himself into a mess of self-torment tonight, losing himself in his own thoughts. If he made a scene in front of her he’d excuse himself and disappear into the night without a word of warning for who knows how long. It would never occur to him that all she really needed was for him to stay with her tonight. To just be there.

She wasn’t going to let either one of them be alone tonight.  

Suddenly, a feeling of dread ran down her spine. Maybe he had already left. Within a minute she was heading down the stairs with a towel in her hair. 

She found him in the kitchen. He was facing away from her with his arms out on either side of him, bracing the countertop. His head was cast down, staring at the two coffee mugs that he’d set out for their tea. Hers, a holiday mug she’d had since med school and his, a gift from her with “Mr. Grumpy” written across the front. Apart from that he hadn’t even taken out the kettle let alone boiled the water. It occurred to Watson that he must have been standing there staring for the ten minutes she’d been upstairs. His shoulders were visibly tense and she could practically feel the guilt seeping out of him.

She wanted to reassure him, to ease the tension she saw in his stance. He had let her touch him less than half an hour before, but she wasn’t so sure he would allow it again. And yet she found herself longing to reach out to him. She realized she had been standing there for a whole minute without any acknowledgement of her presence on his part. Her concern for him rose again. 

“Sherlock?” she called his name but he showed no sign of having heard her. Watson removed the towel from her hair and tossed it over one of the kitchen chairs. Still his gaze remained fixed on the countertop. She came up and rested a hand on his shoulder. 

This time Sherlock flinched away from her touch immediately. He looking away and backed up until he was leaning against their fridge. She tried to ignore the disappointment that rose up inside her at his reaction and gave him a little space. “Sherlock, today was not your fault.” She saw his jaw clench at her words and she knew he would need more convincing.

She took a small step closer to him. “You cannot be held accountable for what happened to Jack Brunelle or his son. I will not allow you to blame yourself, Sherlock.” 

He shifted his gaze to hers and she found something odd in his expression. Where she expected to see guilt, she found annoyance and almost a hint of…amusement? He raised an eyebrow at her and chuckled in what seemed to be disbelief, “I am not blaming myself, Watson.”

She relaxed slightly. Maybe for once they would both sleep tonight. “I’m glad…” she started, but he quickly interrupted her, a distinct flicker of anger in his tone.

“In fact, if _anyone_ is to blame for the unfortunate outcome of today, it would most certainly be _you_. ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accusations and declarations will be uncovered in chapter 4! Let me know what you think so far.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Robert Doherty’s Elementary characters. Enjoy!

_“In fact, Watson, if anyone is to blame for the unfortunate outcome of today, it would most certainly be you.”_

The instant the words left Sherlock’s mouth, he regretted them. The air between them immediately felt heavy, loaded. In all their years of partnership, she had only seen him this angry a handful of times. Her mind reeled at his accusation and he visibly deflated at her dumbfounded expression, the tense crease between his brow disappearing a little.

He hadn’t meant to say it that way. And the look on her face…he bounced on his heels awkwardly, wishing away his shame. 

“Forgive me, Watson,” his voice had lowered, coming out in a strain. “You’ve had a most trying day and I should not have brought it up.” He scrubbed a hand across his forehead hastily and pinched his nose, but she spotted the masked emotion underneath. He was genuinely angry with her and she wanted to know why. She searched his face for a hint toward his reasoning but came up empty. He seemed apologetic for the timing of his outburst rather than the accusation itself. He was still upset.

“Explain,” she fought to keep her voice even. 

He let out a ragged breath and moved to leave the room, “Let’s just leave it for tonight, okay?” But Watson wasn’t having it. She quickly darted out in front of him and blocked the doorway, effectively trapping Sherlock with her in the kitchen. He came to an abrupt halt inches from colliding with her body and immediately took a step backward to replace the distance between them.

“No Sherlock. You don’t get to say something like that and then just walk away!” He looked down at her through half-lidded eyes, his chin jutting out in the air, jaw clenching. He was visibly annoyed that she had so cleverly cut off his escape. They both knew that no matter how angry he was, he would never ever lay a hand on her. No matter how much he wanted to flee, he wasn’t about to try removing her from the doorway. She knew it and he knew it. For one fleeting moment, she caught an impressed smile flicker across his lips, his eyes shining down at her as if to say, _‘Well played, Watson.’_

“I want to know what you meant,” she pressed him again. 

“Watson…” he cautioned softly. “Leave it be.”

But she didn’t budge and met the intensity of his glare with one of her own. “What. Did. You. Mean?” She could feel her temperature rising and fought to remain calm and collected. He was not getting away with this. Not this time.  

He looked away from her then, breathing through flared nostrils. She could see him fighting to keep his emotions under control. “You can stand there fuming all you want, Sherlock, but you are not walking out of here until you explain yourself.” She noted the slight lowering of his tense shoulders. Defeat?

Finally, he blurted, “You interfered with my investigation.”

After minutes of having her arms crossed tightly, she let them free, throwing her hands up in the arm as a gesture of her confusion. “ _I interfered?_ How exactly did I do that? If I recall correctly, we only traded a few words over the phone. I wasn’t even _there_ during your investigation.” 

“Precisely!” he quipped tightly. His gaze returned to her agitated form, watching her arms fly about. “You weren’t there!” Without realizing, they were matched wit to wit in a shouting match.

“I don’t understand. Are you actually criticizing me for not being there to help you solve this case? May I remind you that Jack Brunelle would not have had to pull a gun at all today if we had just listened to him the first time! Or the second time, the third time?” 

“He could have had justice,” he hissed. “I would have been able to figure it out in time today if it wasn’t for you! You, you…” he drove the heels of his hands into his eyes, screwing them shut. 

“I what? What could I possibly have done to interfere?” 

“You distracted me!” he removed his hands from his face and glared at her again with tired, red eyes. She watched as he turned to pace around the kitchen, head bent and hands fisted into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. 

“I _distracted—_ I wasn’t even there to distract you.” She saw him swallow and look away. She had gotten to him. “Or have you forgotten that I spent the day stuck between the barrel of a gun and 20 hostages?” she yelled. 

“Of course not!” his voice roared above hers. “Do you honestly believe I could forget you were being held at gunpoint?” he looked at her for a moment with wild eyes and then quickly turned away and returned to his pacing. “What the bloody-hell do you think was distracting me? Every minute I spent, every thought I had, every _breath I took_ was spent thinking about you! You in that diner! You in danger! I couldn’t work properly, I couldn’t even _think_ straight. Every moment I spent worrying about your welfare. The thought that your life was in my hands…” He slammed his palms face-down onto the kitchen table as the memory flooded back. “If it wasn’t for you, I would have figured it out in time. I would have made the deadline.” 

Again, the kitchen fell painfully silent. Finally, she understood why he was upset and the puzzle pieces began to align in her mind. She should have known that his accusation had not been driven by any explicit action on her part. Sherlock only got this frustrated with her when there was some kind of emotional component involved. He was struggling with his concern for her. 

Another tingly feeling tugged at her chest at the thought. 

He was bracing the table as if he would flip it over any second, head bent, back arched, chest heaving. Watson left her spot in the doorway to cross the room in his direction with slow, pointed footsteps. She saw the muscles in his back stiffen as she approached and kept herself from reaching out for him, lest he run away. Instead she came to rest beside him, her back leaning against the table he was facing. Her left hip rested only an inch from his left hand, but neither of them moved. 

“Sherlock, we are partners. It’s only natural that you be concerned for me…” she began quietly but he cut her off again, scoffing loudly. 

“My concern for you is the reason that we failed tonight,” he breathed. “Our partnership and the case turnover it facilitates has allowed us to give closure to a great many families, Watson. In that regard it works for us. But overtime it became clear that our partnership was not only beneficial to our work,” she saw him peek at her from the corner of his eye for a flicker of a second before continuing. He lifted his head to stare straight ahead out the kitchen window.

“After you returned to the Brownstone permanently, the course of our arrangement changed. We worked together, we lived together. Gradually, we both withdrew from individual social and romantic pursuits in favour of spending Friday nights working on experiments together, a weekly tradition I have become quite fond of." He could not allow his eyes catch hers as the words left him. "We had become so entangled in each other’s personal and professional lives that it became near impossible to differentiate the two. I realized long ago that our professional collaboration was no longer the only reason for our enduring cohabitation, that we had fallen into a companionable routine outside of the work we do. That what defines each of us separately had come to include the presence of the other."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly in a soft, husky whisper that coated the words that followed. "It occurred to me that for quite some time we have been, that is to say we have become...  _life partners_ , Watson,” another quick glance in her direction. 

Her shoulder barely an inch from his, they were glad to face away from each other as the weight of his words sunk in. _Life partners._ Watson could feel the butterflies fluttering deep in her belly, heartbeat quickening. She'd never imagined he'd use such a phrase.

He caught the flush in her cheeks in his peripheral vision and tried to prevent his own, speaking faster this time, “I also recognize that a partnership such as ours inevitably leads to… preferential treatment towards one another. Such is to be expected. I..I value you, Watson," he swallowed. " Overtime I think we have become bound together somehow in a mutual state of co-dependence."

There was a beat of silence as he cleared his throat nervously. She bit back a small smile. 

"I felt sure that our personal biases towards each other had not adversely affected our work. That is until today.” She could practically feel the temperature in the room drop dramatically then. “Today my concern for you, for your welfare impeded that process. Our partnership became a hinderance to my ability to do my job. And the moment that happens, the moment our concern for one another interferes with our ability to solve cases,” he swallowed and turned to meet her gaze solemnly. “You and I can no longer be partners." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter five will be up soon. Watson fires back at his admissions and promises are made.  
> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments and kudos! Love to hear what you think.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought!


End file.
